Dry Hands
on the table
trying to absorb
the moisture of
sandalwood
it is not the water
but the lacking care
of another set of
hands
inside it rains
someone claps his hands
so inconsiderate
outside is the sunshine
of her smile
impenetrability
illustrated
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
From sunshine till it rains
Don't know if i stand a chance to be with u again..
To be by your side & see the sunshine & the rain.
I've got addictd so much, now i hardly care for pain..
Hoping we'll be there, to see d sunshine & d rain.
Those who can feel love, have so much there to lose..
Those who can't, have so much there to choose.
I'm so hollow inside that i can't raise my hands..
The hands that held u once, to show the sunshine & the rain.
And the day when God will grant a change..
know that i would choose to be the same.
I do wana see u once again,
With the start of the sunshine, till the end of the rain.
poem by Menime Soul
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H o p e
my little hands are always looking for you
my little hands always want to hold you
my little hands will never let you go
I want to walk and be comfortable
together in your grasp
while my little hands have not been able to conquer the world
but at the moment my little hands into a future force
hands that will always hold you
and will not let you go
smile and my little hands is hope
who will take care of you
someday - is my devotion to you
In Good Hands..
In the hands of a gifted teacher
A classroom is a magical place! ! !
In the hands of a gifted teacher
There's a smile on each child's face.
In the hands of gifted teacher Creative energy is every where.
In the hands of gifted teacher
There's a catalyst who genuinely care.
In the hands of gifted teacher Desire and wonder is awakened.
In the hands of gifted teacherEducation agenda is shaken.
In the hands of gifted teacher Self managment skills are manupulated In the hands of gifted teacherThe best of reality is modeled.
In the hands of gifted teacher Gifts and talents are refined.
In the hands of gifted teacher The desired future is designed.
AND YOR THE TEACHER GIFTED TO MY HANDS! ! ! !
poem by Maanasa Bhaskar
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Hawaiian
SANDALWOOD, you say, and in your thoughts it chimes
With Tyre and Solomon; to me it rhymes
With places bare upon Pacific mountains,
With spaces empty in the minds of men.
Sandalwood!
The Kings of Hawaii call out their men,
The men go up the mountains in files;
Hands that knew only the stone axe now wield the iron axe:
The sandalwood trees go down.
More sandalwood is called for:
The men who hunt the whale will buy sandalwood;
The Kings would change canoes for ships.
Men come down from the mountains carrying sandalwood on their backs;
More and more men are levied;
They go up the mountains in files; they leave their taropatches so that famine comes down on the land.
But this sandalwood grows upon other trees, a parasite;
It needs a growing thing to grow upon;
Its seed and its soil are not enough for it!
Too greedy are the Kings;
Too eager are the men who hunt the whale to sail to
Canton with fragrant wood to make shrines for the
Buddhas;
Too sharp is the iron axe!
Nothing will ever bring together again
The spores and the alien sap that nourished them,
The trees and the trees they would plant themselves
upon:
Like the myths of peoples,
Like the faiths of peoples,
Like the speech of peoples,
Like the ancient creation chants,
The sandalwood is gone!
A fragrance in shrines
But the trees will never live again!
poem by Padraic Colum
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My heart is my hands
My hands
Is
Only my hands...
Not for
your hands....
So...
I want too work
My hands...
I want too serve
My hands...
I want to do about
Somthing of my
Hands...
My hands is
Free for only
Sleeping time only...
my hands is
working all the times
My hands not only
Hands...
It is human workers...
Allways for my friends...
My hands...is my heart...
My heart is my hands.....
Ok...How is your hands...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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The Difference Between You And Me....
perhaps we have the same vices,
we write to confuse, but we drive some points,
like nails on sandalwood,
not those rusty ones that make the sound
of 'trying hard'
we are original in these, competing only with
our own syllables,
we may have the same vices
i may have written all those words to confuse
but mine is a series of stairs
leading to the door to the room to the window
to the skies
and then everything i am is gone
but you do not notice it
you think that i am still the chair and the table
the napkin and
the spoon.
my wings are hands
my hands are winds,
my mind are planes,
my soul a boat,
what i write are mirages
you see, you cannot touch.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Meet Love...
claps and
singing...
nude songs
on bus
travel...
young boys
youth girls...
play the
love..
catch hands
and dance...
lough and claps...
a lovers day meet...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Monsoon Rains
The Monsoon rains have set at last,
A bit delayed than in the past!
The state is water-logged a lot;
The water-table, up somewhat!
No doubt, the rains are welcome but
Many have lost their lives and hut;
The torrent was sudden and big,
And left most people with no wig!
Many now suffer by the rains;
The water is from sky and drains;
It takes a month to settle down;
This is the scene in every town!
Yet, who does clean the cities’ dumps?
’Tis Nature cleaning dirt, clogs, sumps!
For, no one does this job so well,
Like rain from God that pours like hell!
Nevertheless, it does just good,
Though farmers lose their fields and food!
And roads and bridges get damaged,
They are the bad ones and the aged!
Thank God for Monsoon rains that came,
And give Him praises and not blame!
The world needs water that is fresh;
If not, no one can drink, refresh!
Oh, let the rains come in big way!
And let it rain by night and day!
Let’s face the strife those, come what may!
The Sun will shine when we make hay!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 26-11-11
poem by John Celes
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Headstrong
Your head is strong like mine,
Fading brains are here and there.
Hands wash themselves like hands,
The heart comported like a brain in harmony,
You absorb the strokes of the arms
In exercise or grooming, fully aware.
Dejected and resolved afterwards,
The heat of the heart gains until boiling,
Simmering like water over a stove,
Heartiness infuriated me similarly.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Sprinkle Your Love
The glazing sunshine
Afternoon
Under that tree
Tree with dry leaves
Visible roots
Dry earth
Give me water
To drink
And sprinkle your love
On the bareness of my heart
The sky and some patches of white clouds
I stretch
Hold my hands
The hands dry like the branches of that tree
Hold my hands
For these hands
May grow some leaves
And fruits
Like the hope
I have
From the tree
My love
Do not despair
There is blood
Still running in my veins
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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Greetings!
Do you hear the soft rustle
beside your table?
Don't bother to write
for I'll come to you.
Is it possible you are angry
with me like the last time?
You say that you don't want to see my hands,
my hands or my eyes.
I am with you in your bright, simple room.
Don't chase me away
to where the cold, murky water
flows under the bridge.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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Sunshine And Flowers And Your Way Of Loving
susnhine, spreading sunshine, warming my face
spreading this warm caress to my body, my shoulders,
bathe
take the basins of sunshine in the cups of your hands
feel
close your eyes and feel the sunshine falling in your hair
running to your ears
then open your eyes
to the blooms of flowers, the roses and daffodils in the garden
where a chair is there
where you sit
looking at me, beside you, bathing to sunshine, closing my eyes
feeling the warmth of the gazes of your eyes, the pulse of your wrist
the palm
your hands running
slowly all over me,
sunshine and hands and eyes closing
opening to dazzling color and closing again
to the thoughts of love
of you always loving me
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In Good Hands
In the hands of a gifted teacher
a classroom is a magical place
In the hands of a gifted teacher
There’s a smile on each child's face
In the Hands of a Gifted Teacher
Creative Energy is Everywhere
In the Hands of a Gifted Teacher
There’s a Catalyst who Genuinely Cares
In the Hands of a Gifted Teacher
Desire and Wonder is Awakened
In the Hands of a Gifted Teacher
The Educational Agenda is Shaken
In the Hands of a Gifted Teacher
Self-Management Skills are Modeled
In the Hands of a Gifted Teacher
The Best of Reality is Bottled
In the Hands of a Gifted Teacher
Gifts and Talents are Refined
In the Hands of a Gifted Teacher
The Willed Future is Designed
poem by Ultimate Cyan
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I Dreamed.... (Hands)
i dreamed last night...
and all i could see were hands.
sometimes hard and calloused,
sometimes soft and feminine.
skilled hands, laborer's hands,
loving hands, nurturing hands....
fingers digging in the dirt,
fingers holding a pen.
fingers playing a piano,
fingers unbuttoning blouses.
hands extended, hands gripping the rope,
hands holding the shovel,
hands covered with resin.
hands folded in prayer,
hands balled into fists.
hands stuffed in empty pockets.
hands that define both history,
and destiny!
hands scarred and bruised,
hands covered with age spots.
hands that speak many languages.
hands that know mistakes, and failures.
hands that built fires,
hands that put fires out!
hands that wiped away tears,
that picked up trash,
and revealed souls....
whose hands?
my hands, your hands?
god's hands?
does it really matter?
hands engaged and involved,
in the very act of living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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These Hands
Given by God -are these hands!
One can do many things -with these hands
With love one can help a strangers' hands-
Allay and comfort the elders' gnarled hands
Clean sweep and mop with these hands
Decorate and embellish with these hands
Cook and serve food to all with these hands
Clasp a loved one with these hands
Applaud one with pleasure with these hands
Dig the soil and form a garden with these hands
Hold a book to read with these hands
Write and post a card with these hands
Type a poem to cheer someone with these hands
Draw a picture and sew clothes with these hands
Paint a beautiful scene to amuse with these hands
Play a game of volley ball or cricket with these hands
Swim the waters and row a boat with these hands
Pick the harvests and fruits with these hands
Feed the animals and birds with these hands
Seek the warmth of dear ones with these hands
Feel the soft petals of a flower with these hands
Fold the palms to pray with these hands
Given by God - are these hands!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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The Smile Of An Enemy
The smile of an enemy
makin me think it's the
end of me
Fearful to the core of heart
is that smile of an enemy
feels like I can't run
feels like I can't hide...
from that smile of an enemy
Is my life written in stone
by my enemy?
The smile of an enemy
has taken over me
and I can't do a damn thing
about it
or can I?
Who's hands are over
the smile of an enemy?
Who pulls the corners of
his mouth makin my enemy
smile at me?
I have to put my hands over
his mouth
My hands are now over his
mouth
He is not smiling at me now
He is smiling at my hands
over his mouth!
And he can't do a damn
Thing about it
I have taken away the smile
of my enemy
His smile that scares me so
are in my hands now
poem by Brenda Poole
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The Friend
We sat across the table.
he said, cut off your hands.
they are always poking at things.
they might touch me.
I said yes.
Food grew cold on the table.
he said, burn your body.
it is not clean and smells like sex.
it rubs my mind sore.
I said yes.
I love you, I said.
That's very nice, he said
I like to be loved,
that makes me happy.
Have you cut off your hands yet?
poem by Marge Piercy
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The most beatiful hands
There are no more beautiful hands
than the hands that caressed you
and rocked you when you were little.
There are no more beautiful hands
than the hands that guided you
when you took your first steps in life.
There are no more beautiful hands
than the hands that bathed you,
clothed you and fed you,
during childhood.
There are no more beautiful hands
than the hands that hugged you
and wiped away all your tears
throughout your life.
There are no more beautiful hands
than your mother's hands...
poem by Viorel Vintila
Submitted by Viorel Vintila
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Top Taps
At the Royal Festival Hall, on the third floor,
There is an experience which I just adore.
Every time that I visit there, I always choose
To wash my hands under the taps in their loos.
Out of the tap, the water suddenly gushes;
On to my waiting hands, hot water rushes.
Into the basin, water froths and foams:
I really wish we had these taps at home.
Round my wrists, the white water swirls
Like a precious bracelet, made of pearl.
Bubbles coat my hands, just like a glove:
It is a sensation which I simply love.
By the bubbles, my hands are massaged.
Luckily, for these loos, there isn't a charge.
With these taps, I am a little obsessed.
These are the taps which I love the best!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Keep On Smiling
keep on smiling
Smile because-
you are here
you are breathing
your heart its beating
your eyes are seeing
your legs are running
your arms are rolling
an your hands are working away
smile because-
life is short
because -
people do actually care
because your missed
smile because-
lips allow you too
smile with color
smile because-
you are proud
because a smile is free
and could make a difference
to everyone.
poem by Noorie Ali
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